tagAnalSatisfying Samantha

Satisfying Samantha

bygrafexguy©

My name is Michael. I work for a family-owned pharmaceutical supply company near Chicago. I've been with this gig for nearly a year, and to be honest, I never really liked it. Most days are quite mundane and pass without much excitement. But, I always thought there must be something of interest, just around the corner. Funny, when I look back now, I guess there was. As they say, hindsight is 20/20 and I never saw this opportunity coming. Regardless, I will always have an incredible fuck story to brag about and remember.

As I said, my job has always been lame. Basically, it sucks. I work as the Inventory Manager in the warehouse. A glorified title for "Shipping and Receiving Guy," really. My perks consist of a few pick-up basketball games, a couple of company cook-outs each year, and a rare vendor-funded lunch. Our suppliers are usually pretty cool about taking the guys out. I have no room to complain about this last deal. A lunch on them means I get to keep more of my paycheck.

Even though I don't like the job too much, I have to keep reminding myself that I have it pretty good. Hell, I'm 26 years old and my life is just beginning. I wear jeans and T-shirts everyday and I am the fucking Manager. Maybe I just don't like who I work for. I'm not sure.

Tuesday started just like any other day. I was tired and cranky. I never sleep too well mostly because I live in a questionable area on the north side. Seems like the late night morons yelling outside or the goddamn sirens keep me up. I was never much of a city guy. Last night, it was more of the same. Some drunk outside in the alley, talking to him self, kicking the empty beer cans or some shit. This took place around 3 or so. Needless to say, I was up since; dragged my ass to work by 6 to be on time for the morning suppliers. Fun times for sure.

This day was already proving to be different. The boss called me into his office first thing. There was an obscure handwritten note left by him on my chair. It read, "Mike, please see me as soon as you get this." I hate it when he calls me Mike. I've corrected him a number of times and have just recently given up. Very strange; Mark, the owner of the company, wasn't usually this hard up, especially early in the morning. I knew that he preferred to get to the office before most folks, but I was almost always the first one there. I walked through Accounting, passed Marketing and into the company kitchen: a make-shift break room with a few tables, a microwave, refrigerator and a pop machine. At this hour, I figured I really needed a cup of coffee, even before finding out whatever the hell it was that Mark wanted. While I was pouring my cup, Mark saw me through the glass windows.

"Hey there. Good morning."

"Oh, hi, Mark. How are you?"

"Great," Mark answered, "Did you see my note?"

"Sure did," I replied, pretending to be energetic, "I was just on my way to see you."

"Fantastic. Please see me in my office as soon as you're done here."

"Super," I sarcastically thought.

As soon as he appeared, he was gone. "Probably squirreling away for another investment opportunity," I imagined. Mark is your typical high-energy, entrepreneur. About average height, dark hair, skinny, a fast-talking Italian with never a hair out of place. Rumor had it that he was only about 30 years old and had previously made his money through illegal drug trafficking. Since being questioned by the FBI a few too many times, he supposedly went legitimate. I'm not sure if that's the truth or not, but it's what I've heard. I'm not much for office politics, I just smile and nod.

I walked into Mark's office with my coffee and Mark looked up.

"Have a seat, Mike," motioning to the empty side chair.

"What's up, Mark?" I asked, settling in.

"I just wanted to let you know that we have a lot on the plate today. Seems like there are a few folks interested some opportunities with us. I want you to know about it first, since these guys have noted interest in our shipping operations."

"Really? Well, that's great, Mark."

"Yeah, it is. And that's why I'm glad I caught you early. I need you and your guys to get the warehouse in top shape today. Straighten the inventory. Sweep and mop. Organize. Get it spotless. Don't get me wrong, the warehouse looks good and I know you run a tight ship back there, but we need to take it up a notch or two."

"Mark, no problem, but what do we do about inventory and the orders?"

"Just for today, ignore them; getting the warehouse up to snuff needs to be the priority."

"Understood."

"Good," Mark answered, "Have a nice day," obviously making the hint for me to leave.

Mark can be an accommodating guy, but it's time like this when he lacks the art of conversation. Oh well, I had my task and a long day ahead of me. I stood and as I was turning to go, I noticed a picture of his wife on the credenza, displayed in a brass frame.

"Wow, is this your wife?" I asked, pointing to the frame.

Mark looked up, "Yeah, that's Sam."

"She's beautiful," I said, making eye contact with him. His eyebrow went up in surprise or in your typical ego-fueled jealousy.

"Thanks," he muttered, returning his attention to the open files on his desk.

I turned to leave without another word.

Sam, I'm guessing, was a nickname for Samantha. I had never met the woman, but heard she was a knockout. Terry, one of the marketing managers mentioned she had a body that would even make Barbie green with envy. I could only imagine what she must look like.

Mark called out, "Oh, speaking of Sammy, she may be in later today to review the office. She's an Interior Designer, so she's offered to take a look at how things flow around here. I'll be sure to introduce you, since she'll want to see the warehouse too."

"Oh, okay, Mark, no worries," I answered, coffee in hand, walking back to shipping and receiving.

Sammy's picture was intriguing. She had jet black hair and olive skin. Her bright white teeth gave superb contrast to her dark features. She wore dark sunglasses so you couldn't see her eye color. And, since the picture was taken close, there was no way to tell how she looked neck down. Questions about Sammy began to skip through my mind. "How old is she? Does she have this body that folks talked about? I even wondered about the type of underwear she preferred...thong, plain?...lace, satin?" I felt my pulse quicken and my palms grow damp. "Focus, Mike," I thought, "You have some major work to get on."

The day dragged by from then on. I gave most of the grunt work to Steve and Larry, two other guys in shipping who work for me. These guys are great. They never complain about any assignments. They probably like the change of pace, I guess. This was a unique project...most days entailed getting shipments, checking them in, fulfilling orders, and getting inventory rectified; again, boring shit.

Lunch finally arrived after a few agonizing hours. Larry and Steve took off for the hour, and I decided to stick around. As I was reviewing some time reports at my desk, I heard the main access door open and in stepped Sammy. I almost choked. She was 100 times better looking than her photo. She couldn't have been older than 26 or 27. She wore a white business skirt with high heels and a dark purple blouse. Her jacket matched her skirt and as she walked, her curvaceous hips swayed deliciously from side to side. When she first came in, she was wearing sunglasses and took them off with one quick flick of her wrist. She paused, looked around for a second, as my eyes took a walk up and down her. Sammy stood at about 5-foot, 4-inches. Her heels, I'm sure, added another 3 inches or so. Her tanned legs were absolutely stunning. From the looks of it, she was not wearing any hosiery and didn't need any. Every inch of her was toned and tight, although not muscular. Rising past the magic connection point of legs, was a set of sensuous curved hips, giving way to a flat and slender mid-section. The only interruption to this straight line was by a beautiful set of full-rounded breasts. C-cup: most likely. Her blouse was unbuttoned from the top. I begged that it would be unbuttoned enough for me to get a good peek of her cleavage. Her neck, like the rest of her body, was right in line with the rest of her beauty. Sammy's hair was just like her picture: jet black, straight, shoulder length and parted of to one side. She could have walked on water.

"Michael?" she asked smiling.

"Yes?" I replied trying to hide my staring, standing up.

"Oh, good-I just talked with Mark. He said I could find you back here," Sammy explained as she started to make her way towards me. "Is this a good time for you?"

Hey, anytime a gorgeous babe such as this wants to have my time, she can have the entire week and then some, as far as I'm concerned.

"Of course," I answered.

"Michael, I'm Sammy," she said, extending her hand.

Without hesitation, I gratefully welcomed it. Her touch was like silk, soft and supple, but firm with her grip. The contrast of her professionally tailored nails, like her teeth, was brilliant against her bronze skin. The French manicure was in perfect detail.

"I know," I swallowed, amazed at the beauty of her as she stood before me.

"You know?" she asked inquisitively.

"Ah, um, yeah," I stammered, "Mark said you were coming in today."

"Oh, he did, did he?" Sammy giggled.

I must have appeared to have been a deer in headlights when exposed to Sammy. She looked like a high-school beauty queen matched with the body of a pageant winner. Our eyes met and I could have starred in hers forever. Emerald green eyes, they shown like precious stones in the dimly lit warehouse. I looked to the floor in embarrassment and then looked up again and noticed that she was still looking at me directly.

"Well, how can I help you, Sammy?" I asked with a smirk of intent.

"That depends," she said slyly. "I've been asked to see what kind of equipment you have."

My mind raced. Was she saying what I thought she was saying or was I simply reading into her words? Quickly, I regained composure and tried again to hide my surprise.

Sammy turned away from me, smiling devilishly. As she turned, she revealed one of the tightest clothed assess I've ever seen. As she took a few steps, her hips once again gently swayed side to side and her ass cheeks moved in perfect harmony. The sight was incredible. I had seen beautiful women before, but never really had the opportunity to interact with one of them until now. She took a few more steps and my eyes were transfixed on her perfect ass. The curves of her rear end reminded me immediately of an upside-down heart. Her hips weren't too round or obtrusive and her waist was in perfect proportion to the curvature of her ass. Seemingly perfect from any angle: side view, rear view...you name it.

It's no secret that I am an ass man. Don't get me wrong. I love a great set of tits, legs too. Along with a nice face and long hair, I'd be set. But above all, I've always known myself to be preoccupied with a slender, tight ass. Sammy's ass fit the bill, no doubt.

While starring at her hind quarters, she must have noticed my glare. I saw her check me out from the corner of her eye as she continued down the inventory aisle. Her steps were delicate, but with a purpose, her heels creating echoing click sounds against the cement. I followed her like a pathetic puppy dog.

"Michael, do you think we should bring the inventory closer to the edge of the shelves?" she asked, batting her eyes a few times, awaiting my response."

"Sure, I'll make sure the guys get to it before they leave today."

"You know, there seems to be lots of folks on the edge already, but what's a few more, right?" Sammy smiled and winked at me. "You look like the type of guy that likes to be brought to the edge."

That was my cue. I knew she was out for more than just a casual survey. As my awareness enlarged, so did my cock. And the ironic fact was, I was aware Sammy that knew it too. For the first time since she had arrived, I felt my nervousness shake a bit and my courage grow. I caught Sammy looking down at my swelling package.

"There are a couple of measurements I'd like to take from you, if you don't mind," Sammy said.

"Sure, just so long as you don't mind me sizing up in the process," I practically squeaked, releasing full caution to the wind.

"Okay, but I'm wondering if you'll be able to take the heat." She purred.

"I can, if you can."

When we returned to my desk, my dick was ready to split my pants. "Have a seat." She pushed me down into my chair and I fell back obediently. She hovered over me, pretending to review some haphazard documents on the desk. I looked up to see her blouse pulled down by a hell of a nice rack. Sammy was wearing a black laced bra that nestled her tits perfectly like a well-fashioned swing. Her round, firm tits pushed against the material of her blouse, allowing full view beyond to her navel. As I stared intently, my mouth watering, she leaned forward further and shrugged her shoulders, effectively clenching her breasts together. This created a tight dark line of cleavage between her incredible tits. I almost passed out and gasped in reaction.

"Tell me, Michael, do you like what you see?"

A desperate sounding, "Uh, huh, nice rack" was about all I could muster.

Sammy smirked. "Now," she said, "let me take a few measurements myself. Excuse me," she added, reaching down and taking hold of my now solid throbbing prick. Her eyes widened in disbelief, "Well, you certainly have nice equipment. My, it feels like some of the strongest I've ever held."

"We aim to please," I offered, reaching for her.

Surprised by her teasing, I frowned when she held up a hand in protest. Sammy motioned to the security camera positioned above and then over to the phone on the desk. "Well, you never know who may be watching...or listening."

I nodded in silent agreement, but I was dying to get it on in the worst way with this gorgeous woman.

"Give me a little time to review the numbers. I will get back to you before long."

"Okay," I murmured and watched her turn to leave. She blew me a kiss before exiting through the same door she entered.

With that, she was gone. Instantly, I was obsessed with the thought of her, desperately trying to memorize the visuals of her fantastic body and of our brief, tension-charged encounter. The rest of the day crawled by slower than any day had before. I counted the minutes to the end of it and questioned every detail of our encounter. What could have I done differently? Should I have followed her? What could have I said differently? With each passing moment came another irritating thought. The only constant was my wondering and the perpetual erections that came and went without action.

I drove home in disgust that night, completely frustrated. I couldn't eat and I knew that I wouldn't be able to sleep either. I ended up running a few miles, continuing to torture myself. Even after the solid jog and a cool shower, I couldn't seem to end the internal harpings. Before long, I eagerly jacked off to the memories of Sammy's aerobic toned, slender legs, grapefruit-sized, round tits, sly smile, piercing green eyes and, of course, her incredibly formed hand-grip friendly tight ass.

Wednesday came without warning, jarred awake by the alarm clock. "Damn, another day," I thought, reaching to turn off the alarm. I sat up and wondered for a minute if yesterday's experience with Sammy really happened. The whole thing felt like a super wet dream. I took a deep breath, yawned and stretched, and made my way to the shower.

Arriving on time, again sluggish from another night of limited sleep, I made my way to the break room for coffee again, per the routine. Can you believe it? For the second damn day in a row, Mark was in early. He made eye contact with me briefly, as he approached the entry way. "Shit," I muttered.

"Hey. Good morning."

"Morning, Mark," I answered, feeling quite a bit uneasy.

"I heard that Sammy had a good meeting with you yesterday."

I felt the blood rush to my face. Did he know? Did he have any idea what happened?

Instantly, I decided to play it cool. "Yeah, it was good."

"Great. Glad to hear it," Mark smiled, "Oh, before I forget, Sammy's going to want to meet with you again. I'm not sure when, but I'm sure she'll contact you. I guess she's got some more ideas for you about the warehouse."

"Oh, okay, no problem, Mark," I stammered, almost breathless.

"Thanks for taking the time to help her out."

"Hey, it's no big deal." I wanted to run out of the room.

"Michael?"

"Yeah?" my heart was now in my throat.

"Also, before I forget, I'm going to be out of the office this afternoon. I'm meeting with our investor friends again."

"Gotcha," I had no idea why he was volunteering this information, but I didn't care.

"If you and Sammy need to meet up front, that's fine with me. She said she might be more comfortable using my office."

I swallowed hard and managed a meek, "Thanks." Forcing a pathetic smile, I left with my coffee once again.

After practically running back to the warehouse, I slumped in my chair and spun around a bit, taking a few deep breaths, trying to relax. My breathing soon returned to somewhat normal. The coffee began to relieve my cotton mouth.

Again, the day seemed to drag on by. After giving my guys direction on what to do, I found myself helping them out, just to keep occupied on the job, rather than on yesterday's encounter.

After lunch, I casually asked the guys if they had met Sammy. I noticed Larry and Steve both shot each other loaded glances.

"What?" I asked, fearing their response.

"Have you met her?" Larry sneered.

"Just yesterday," I nonchalantly responded, "She's the one making all the warehouse changes."

"What do you know about her?" Steve asked.

"Nothing, other than she's hot." I calmly grinned.

"Yeah, I'll give you that," Steve replied, "But she's also a lot of trouble."

"Big trouble," Larry added.

"Hmm, really?"

"Yep. Stay away. Stay far away," Larry cautioned.

"You guys are making her sound like a total bitch. She's been nothing but nice to me."

"Just be careful," Steve said, "she is nice, but she's also very married."

"And she's married to Mark, remember," Larry smirked.

"Who do you guys think I am, some hard-up fiend?"

"No. I'm sure you get laid like the next guy," Steve offered, "She's the one who's hard up from what we've heard."

Larry nodded in agreement, "Just be careful."

I bit my lip as to not arouse more suspicion. But I was getting horny again at the thought of her.

"Okay, thanks, guys."

The rest of the day resumed normally. At 4 o'clock as I was about to leave, my phone rang.

"This is Michael," I answered.

"Hi, it's Becky from Reception. Mark's wife, Sammy, is here to see you."

"Thanks." My mind raced. I couldn't believe it!

I put the phone down, took a deep breath and felt my pulse begin to race again. I walked in a dream state through the busyness of the marketing and sales departments without noticing a single sound. Amidst the activity of phone calls, people about, I heard nothing but silence and my own heart beat as I approached the reception desk. There she stood, gorgeous as expected. A hand on one hip, shifting her weight as if in disgust, "So there you are!" she giggled, "You know, you should never keep a woman waiting."

I looked at Becky and she simply rolled her eyes.

I forced a laugh. "Right. Sorry about that, Sammy."

I held the security door open for her and watched her walk past me. The scents of feminine cleanliness and spring flowers followed her. She wore a gray mini-skirt with black high heels, black stockings and a tight red blouse. All of her clothes were carefully chosen to show off her incredible figure. Each seam and material detail stretched and held fast in just the right areas. My knees buckled as I followed. Sammy's shiny brushed hair swayed back and forth perfectly in time with her gently knocking ass and alternating hips. As she walked, she again noticed me gawking from the corner of her eye. Her devilish grin returned and I saw her head cock a bit to the side as she continued. My dick jumped to life in interest.

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bygrafexguy© 9 comments/ 285275 views/ 26 favorites

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